


Convalescence

by AnaMikala



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artificial Respiration, Black Dragon - Freeform, Dark Past, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pillow Talk, Police, Redemption, Scars, Serious Injuries, nypd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaMikala/pseuds/AnaMikala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Introspective fic. Kabal and Stryker contemplate their history together, their relationship, and what the future holds for them. Post-MK9/2011. Contains angst, fluff, and male/male romance. Stryker/Kabal.</p>
<p>Written in April 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convalescence

**Author's Note:**

> My second Mortal Kombat fiction. I’ve fallen in love with the Stryker/Kabal pairing, and have wanted to write something for them for a long time. Well, here it is. It takes place after the 2011 game, and in this story Stryker and Kabal survived Sindel’s attack. If you don’t like male-male relationships, I suggest you find another story to read.
> 
> I should probably explain something first. The assertion that Kabal needs his mask to breathe puzzles me. First, he has a line going from his ventilator directly into his trachea, which I think would be sufficient to keep him oxygenated. Second, his mask is far from airtight, at least in the 2011 game, and if he needed the mask to breathe, I would think there would be a seal between the mask and his face, at least a semi-airtight one. Third, there’s no connection from his mask or helmet to his ventilator, so how the mask would assist in breathing is lost on me. The tracheal tube would be enough to distort his voice as well, as most of his air is entering and leaving his body below his vocal cords, which would greatly weaken his voice. So, I imagine Kabal would able to function just fine without his mask on. In other words, he’s not wearing it in this story.
> 
> Mortal Kombat and the characters therein don’t belong to me. I’m just borrowing them for now.

A place for everything and everything in its place. Kabal had never heard Stryker quote that saying before, but he sure did live by it.

Kabal was leaning on the doorframe, looking into the bedroom of the small apartment he shared with the SWAT sergeant. The bed was very neatly made, nary a fold of fabric out of place. Stryker wasn’t exactly neurotic about keeping the place clean, but his time spent in the military had instilled in him an unconscious habit of keeping his living quarters in an admirable state of organization. The drill sergeants would tear to pieces anyone who slacked off in their cleaning duties.

Kabal smiled softly and shook his head. Kurtis Stryker—his friend, his partner, his lover—fit the soldier boy persona perfectly. He was driven to do what’s right, and defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. It was what compelled him enlist in the Marines right out of high school, and then join the New York Police Department after his honorable discharge. He was passionate about what he did; about life in general, actually. His subordinates on the SWAT team looked up to him as a leader and an example of excellence. “New York’s finest” wasn’t just a nickname when it came to cops like him.

_If it weren’t for him, who knows where I’d be now?_ Kabal thought, watching a tree move in the breeze outside the bedroom window. When he betrayed the Black Dragon criminal organization, he had come to the NYPD as a wild-eyed, messy-haired, emotional wreck. He had been coming down off of a spectacular drug high, and wasn’t exactly docile. The trauma and shock of his defection—the hardest and most terrifying thing he had ever done in his life—was wreaking havoc on his mind and body, and the drugs he had taken to bolster his courage weren’t helping at all.

That freezing-cold, snowy night that he stumbled into the first police station he came to, one Kurtis Stryker had been hanging out in the lobby on a coffee break, perusing a newspaper that had been left on the front desk. Upon seeing the disheveled, panting, and shaking Kabal, who looked nothing less than a maniac at that moment, his hand went instinctively for his gun, though he didn’t draw it from its holster.

Kabal’s first words to anyone who would listen were, “I’m a criminal.”

He didn’t remember many details from that first night after his betrayal. He had spent much of it in an interrogation room, the police trying to figure out who he was and what he was doing there. Whenever there was anyone questioning him, there were at least two other officers in the room as well, ready to subdue him if need be. The longhaired man had been highly agitated, both from drugs and his emotions, and there was no telling how dangerous he would be, even unarmed. He didn’t see Stryker again that night, or for several days after. Interrogating people didn’t fall under SWAT’s responsibilities.

He had been treated for drug intoxication at the nearby hospital, as well as given a psychological evaluation. The doctors concluded that he was a sane but traumatized individual, and released him back into the police department’s custody, recommending further evaluation and possible psychiatric treatment in the future.

Once he had made clear who he was and where he came from, and had given the police all the information on the Black Dragon that he was comfortable divulging, he found himself at a loss. Okay, so they weren’t going to arrest him for his affiliation with organized crime—at least not yet—so what was he supposed to do now? He had no home, no source of income, no place to go…

…and then he met Stryker again. He was seated in a corner of central booking, watching people come and go, when someone sat in the chair next to him and handed him a cup of coffee.

“You look like you could use a pick-me-up,” the police officer had said. Kabal had looked up at his visitor and recognized him as the first man he had laid eyes on upon entering the precinct almost a week earlier. The man with blue eyes and dark blond hair had an easy smile, and though Kabal was weary of others by habit, he didn’t feel as defensive under this man’s scrutiny as he did with most people.

Kabal soon learned the man’s identity. His name was Kurtis Stryker, he was on the SWAT team, and he was currently without a partner since his last one had retired the month before. He was also offering Kabal a place to stay. In response to Kabal’s open incredulity, insisting that he had no idea what kind of man he was, and that Stryker could be setting himself up to be robbed or murdered or who knows what else, Stryker had quite nonchalantly admitted that he had been keeping tabs on Kabal since he had first arrived, and that he “seemed all right.”

Kabal sighed at the memory, running his hand through his long black hair. That was over two and a half years ago now. And, oh, how things had changed in those two and a half years. Kabal had joined the police force, replacing his hookswords with a standard-issue handgun. He was now on the complete opposite side of the law as he had initially been. The captain had assigned him as Stryker’s new partner, commenting that if anyone could handle a firebrand like Kabal, it would be Stryker.

Even more surprising, and unprecedented to the loner Kabal, was Stryker taking a vested interest in Kabal’s rehabilitation. He offered Kabal guidance and support in adjusting to his new life, lent a sympathetic ear whenever Kabal needed to unload a particularly painful memory, and encouraged him to seek therapy for the guilt and self-doubt his former life as a criminal was now causing him. He wasn’t just a partner at work and a roommate at home; he was becoming a friend. A very close friend.

And then, just over five months after their initial meeting, their relationship took a sudden turn. Kabal had fallen into a “mood,” and Stryker was sitting next to him on the couch, listening to his halting account of a particularly brutal assault he had taken part in. A client of the Black Dragon had failed to pay for their latest weapons purchase, and so their leader Kano had personally seen to it that they be taught a lesson. With him had been Kabal and a few other guys, and they made sure the lesson was very acutely learned.

Kabal had trailed off in his account, fists clenched in his lap, teeth chattering behind his closed lips. He felt a hand on his cheek, turning his head to look at Stryker. And then Stryker kissed him.

To say he had been surprised would be an understatement. He had known since his early teens that he was bisexual, enjoying the company of men just as much as that of women. As chance would have it, so was Stryker, and Kabal had had no idea of it. The thought had just never crossed his mind that Stryker was anything other than straight, and…oh, this kiss feels nice…

From that kiss blossomed an entirely new kind of relationship, one that Kabal had never experienced before. He had fallen in love before, but not like this. Over the next few months, they went from just friends to friends with benefits, and then to actual boyfriends, and finally to devoted lovers. Their attraction wasn’t just sexual, but emotional as well. Far from infatuation or mindless passion, their relationship was based on trust, respect, and genuine friendship. It was much deeper than Kabal could have ever expected it to become, much less think he even deserved.

Kabal closed his eyes, letting his memories run unchecked through his mind. Kurtis Stryker…he had become the center of Kabal’s world. He had been a rock for Kabal to cling to in the torrent of his transition from evil to good, had supported and encouraged him every step of the way. If it weren’t for him, Kabal would have probably fallen to the wayside, maybe even back into his old ways. He was precious to the former Black Dragon, completely irreplaceable. Kabal had come to love him with everything he had, and knew Stryker felt the same for him. There was no doubt there, no ambiguity.

It was like they were fated for each other.

Kabal chuckled at the wistful thought, pushing off the doorframe and turning toward the living room. As he passed the bookcase to the left of the television, a particular book caught his eye. It was a book on erotic massage for men that Stryker had picked up for them a while back. It was the only sex manual they had, as they were both rather creative in bed without needing help. Kabal hadn’t exactly kept track, but he figured by now they had probably tried everything in that book at least once. Their sex life was an active one, and they each had their favorite things, both to do to the other and to have done to them. They were both switches, as comfortable being penetrated as they were with penetrating. As such, they usually let the cards fall where they will in their encounters, each taking the role they most felt was right at the given moment. Although, it happened fairly often that they “fought” for control of the situation, the winner determined by who could subdue the other one first.

He sat down on the couch, meshing his fingers together and bending forward so his hair blocked most of his view of the room around him, his elbows resting on his thighs. Things had been absolutely blissful for them…

…until _that_ day.

That day, portals leading from heretofore unknown dimensions had opened throughout the city, spewing forth an army of beings Kabal could only describe as monsters. There were hideous humanoids with long gnashing teeth and bladed appendages, four-armed berserkers that tore apart anyone in their path, creatures that disturbingly resembled the centaurs of Greek legend, and even the occasional twenty-foot giant that seemed only to have a mind for destruction. Stryker and Kabal had been assailed by a creature that could only be described as a lizard-man, and then by a seemingly beautiful woman with a freakishly toothy smile beneath her mask.

And then _it_ happened. A tiger-striped specimen of the four-armed monsters had appeared before them and engulfed Kabal in its fiery breath. The pain had been excruciating. Even now Kabal could smell his flesh charring, hear his fluids sizzling as the hungry flames consumed him ravenously, burning away his clothes and eating away at his body.

He had passed out, and then woken up in Outworld an unspecified amount of time later. He was in a place called the Flesh Pits, where a sorcerer named Shang Tsung had healed him. But not all the way. He was covered with hideous burn scars, he was blind in one eye, and he had attached to his back a ventilator that was keeping him alive and breathing. Apparently, his lungs had been too damaged from inhaling smoke and flames to salvage.

Best of all, his old boss Kano had been there to greet him upon his return to consciousness. Kabal found himself once again in possession of his hookswords and, despite Kano’s insistence that he return to the Black Dragon, had turned on his would-be captors and joined the fight to save Earthrealm.

It was a move that almost got him and Stryker killed. The empress of Outworld herself had attacked their small group of warriors, and had nearly taken them all out. Those who survived were the lucky ones. It had taken the sacrifice of Nightwolf, their leader in Raiden’s absence, to stop the mad queen from slaughtering them all.

Soon after, the Thunder God had succeeded in halting the invasion, slaying Outworld’s emperor and driving the attackers back to their own world. Earthrealm had been saved. Kabal and Stryker were free to go home.

That was only the beginning of Kabal’s struggle. The threat to their home had distracted him from his injuries and disfigurement. But when he was able to take a good look at himself in the mirror, when he was finally able to really _see_ how horrible his mutilation was, the enormity of it hit him all at once. He was hideous, disgusting, a _monster_ , and he was forever tethered to a life-support machine, unable to function without the weight of the ventilator on his back. It sent him into a full-blown panic attack.

He had never had a panic attack before, not even after his betrayal of the Black Dragon. It was the worst experience he had ever had, worse even than being burned nearly to death. He had screamed in abject horror, stumbling out of the bathroom and away from his distorted reflection.

Stryker, of course, had rushed to him, stunned and bewildered by his lover’s sudden madness. But when he tried to put his arms around Kabal, tried to hold him and comfort him, Kabal had lashed out violently, nearly knocking Stryker’s teeth out.

“Let go of me!” he had shrieked, frenzied. “Don’t touch me! Don’t even look at me! I’m hideous! _You can’t possibly love me like this!_ ”

And then Kabal was facedown on the carpet, Stryker’s weight pressing down on him. His arms were wrenched behind his back, wrists in Stryker’s powerful grip. Stryker had tackled him to the floor like he would an unruly arrest, pinning Kabal and abruptly bringing a little lucidity back to the panicked man. Kabal had lain there, motionless, dazed by the sudden impact. He was breathing hard, his ventilator clicking and whirring as the air rushed to and from his lungs.

“Are you done?” Stryker had asked, his voice angry. When Kabal made no answer, Stryker stood up off of him, dragging him to his feet and turning him so they faced each other. Kabal barely had time to register the look of fury on Stryker’s face before his lips were taken in a bruising kiss, the blond man’s hands gripping either side of his head. The kiss took Kabal completely off guard, and he almost pushed away in shock. But then his desperate need for reassurance overtook him, and he melted into the kiss, submitting fully to his lover’s passion.

Their gazes locked when Stryker finally pulled away, and Kabal almost shrank from the volatile mix of wrath and agony he saw in Stryker’s eyes.

“How dare you doubt my love for you…?” Stryker said in a deadly whisper. “How _dare_ you think I’m that _shallow_ …!” His eyes narrowed, tears spilling over onto his cheeks. “I almost lost you, goddammit! I don’t give a flying fuck _how_ you look!” His voice softened, the pain overtaking the anger. “You’re here with me. You’re alive. That’s all I care about.”

He had practically dragged the still stunned Kabal to the bedroom and for the next few hours had shown him just how strong his feelings were, how much of a _nonissue_ his looks were. Sometimes it was savage, other times it was tender, and Stryker’s message came through loud and clear.

_I love you. I need you. I don’t care how you look. Stay with me._

When they were done, Stryker had made Kabal swear to never again doubt his love, to have faith in him always. At that point, Kabal probably would have agreed to anything, but even through his pleasured haze he could see the deadly seriousness in his mate’s hard gaze. He had nodded wordlessly, feeling tears sting his eyes. This man leaning over him was a godsend, an angel. What could he have possibly done to deserve such genuine love?

That was a little over a month ago now, and Stryker had made good on his word. He was just as loving and affectionate as he had been before, and Kabal had slowly adjusted to the idea that his deformity was of no consequence in his lover’s mind. Kabal somehow knew that Stryker wasn’t just in denial of Kabal’s condition; he merely chose not to let it affect his feelings for the now scarred man. He really was a rare gem among humankind.

Kabal was now seeing a second therapist, a counselor who specialized in PTSD, which Stryker suspected Kabal may have. The dark memories of his past combined with the trauma of his injuries may have triggered the disorder in Kabal. Stryker’s time in the military had familiarized him with the symptoms of PTSD, and Kabal was very much at risk of developing it. For his part, Kabal welcomed anything that may aid in his recovery. If not a physical recovery, then a mental one.

He heard the front door open, then a voice.

“Hey, I’m back,” Stryker called down the hallway as he entered. “Sorry I took so long. The store on the corner was out of those German pretzels you like, so I had to go to the next one over.” Kabal listened to him go into the kitchen and set some bags down, then heard cupboards and drawers opening and closing as he put groceries away.

After a few minutes, Stryker exited the kitchen and came into the living room, shedding his coat and laying it over the back of a chair. “Hey,” he said again, a smile in his voice, “you awake in here?” He stopped as he took in Kabal’s hunched posture, his smile disappearing. “Kabal?”

“Hey, Kurt,” Kabal murmured, his voice quiet even to his own ears. To his dismay, there was a slight tremor to it.

Stryker was at his side in an instant. “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice also soft, as if he didn’t want to frighten the other man. He gripped Kabal’s chin gently and made him look at him. “Tell me?”

Kabal swallowed the lump in his throat. “I was just thinking,” he replied, voice hoarse, “about how much you’ve done for me…how good you are to me. I feel like…I feel like I don’t deserve…”

Stryker laid a finger against Kabal’s lips, shushing him. “Don’t, Kabal,” he said. “You deserve all that I give you and more. You’re everything to me. I love you.”

“I owe you so much,” Kabal whispered, lower lip trembling. “If it weren’t for you…I don’t know where I’d be right now.”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” Stryker countered, shaking his head. “Having you in my life is payment enough. Words can’t describe how grateful I am that I was in the lobby that night.”

Kabal gave a weak smile, his eyes watery. “It’s like we were fated to meet each other.”

Stryker chuckled. “I guess so. Fate, chance, whatever you call it, it must have been on our side that night.”

“Yeah…must’ve been,” Kabal agreed as Stryker leaned in for a kiss. He turned toward the other man as they connected, gently gripping the back of Stryker’s neck with one hand, the other laying against his lover’s chest, lightly stroking.

They caressed each other for a while, kissing and touching and occasionally murmuring endearments. Kabal’s watery eyes overflowed, tears spilling over onto his cheeks, but only a few. His dark mood dissipated, replaced with a deep, warm feeling of affection. Stryker often had that effect on him, warding off his depression and making him feel loved and needed.

After several minutes of making out, Stryker pulled back, laying a kiss on Kabal’s forehead. “Wanna take this to the bedroom?” he whispered, his voice husky with growing desire.

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” Kabal replied, a playful smile stretching his lips. That smile turned into a grin as Stryker jumped to his feet, hauling Kabal up with him.

“Who’s on top?” Stryker asked as he led Kabal into the bedroom.

Kabal’s grin turned predatory. “Fight you for it.”

* * *

“Mmm…”

Stryker let out a quiet sigh as he woke up, coming up out of a warm, pleasant sleep. The first thing he became aware of was his lying half on top of Kabal, his head on the other man’s chest. They were both nude, one of Stryker’s legs between Kabal’s. His arm lay loosely across Kabal’s waist, and he gave a slow smile, tightening his hold on his lover.

The sex had been incredible, as always. They knew every inch of each other’s bodies, and both knew exactly how to please the other. It was very rare indeed that sex between them was _not_ incredible. It was one of the perks of being in a committed, long-term relationship.

Kabal had won the struggle for control, but instead of topping Stryker, he had taken an aggressive bottom role. Topped him from the bottom. It was one thing Stryker loved about being with someone who was as purely a switch as he was. Taking control didn’t mean the same thing every time.

The black-haired man was lying on his back, still asleep. He was breathing easily, the ventilator in the corner of the room making very little noise. The woven nylon strap was around Kabal’s neck, as always, connected to the ventilator. When at home, Kabal used a stationary ventilator that stayed in the bedroom, a thin plastic line running from the machine into his tracheal tube. It was long enough to let him go anywhere in the apartment, and was flexible and thin enough to go under a closed door if he wanted some privacy, like when using the bathroom. Whenever he left home, he would strap his portable ventilator, the one he got in Outworld, onto his back, replacing the plastic line with a more durable nylon-and-metal one. Four cans of liquid oxygen could be plugged into the portable ventilator, which would last a few weeks if used continuously. There was very little worry of running low on oxygen while he was out, unless he went out with an almost empty supply to begin with. Kabal wasn’t stupid, so he never did.

As Kabal’s dependence on ventilators was brought about in the fight to save Earthrealm, medical expenses incurred by the management of his condition where paid for 100% with nothing out-of-pocket for Kabal. The city figured it was the least it could do for the injured man. So, Kabal never had to worry about paying for the oxygen he needed, and for that, both he and Stryker were grateful.

Stryker moved off of Kabal, lying on his side so he could watch his lover sleep. Idly, he played with some of the long black strands that lay across the pillow. He had always loved Kabal’s hair. It was thick and shiny, and very soft. Stryker liked to run his fingers through the dense mane whenever he could, and Kabal liked having his hair played with. It was a win-win situation.

His gaze traveled over Kabal’s face, neck, and chest, taking in the extensive scarring. Though he tried not to show it, he had indeed been devastated by Kabal’s injuries. He would never look the same, never sound the same. It wasn’t for himself, though. It was because he was acutely aware of how Kabal was affected by his mutilation, how much it impacted his outlook and self-respect. It had taken quite a bit of convincing for Kabal to truly believe that Stryker really didn’t care how he looked.

And it was true. He was the same Kabal that Stryker had fallen in love with, just in a slightly different package. The fact that Kabal was alive and (mostly) healthy was all that mattered to Stryker. He mourned Kabal’s injuries not because they made him love Kabal less, but because of the pain they caused the other man, both the agony of his burning and the persistent insecurity that now plagued him. Stryker also knew that things would never again be quite the same for either of them, and though he was grieved by that as well, he was determined not to let it affect his feelings for his lover.

Stryker would not abandon Kabal in his time of need. To do so would be indescribably cruel, and Stryker was not a cruel man. Not even close.

His attention returned to Kabal’s hair. He really shouldn’t even have hair. The burns had been so severe that they should have destroyed all his hair follicles, as well as his sweat glands and dermal nerves. He shouldn’t have things like eyelids, lips, ears, a nose, fingernails, toenails, or genitals, either. In fact, he shouldn’t even be alive.

It was because he had been healed by magic. The sorcerer Shang Tsung had saved his life, restoring his lost and damaged parts and making him whole again. At yet, for some reason, Kabal’s lungs had not been repaired, he was blind in his left eye, and his skin was almost entirely scar tissue. Unlike normal scar tissue, it was enervated like healthy skin, meaning his sense of touch was not impaired…and neither was his sense of pain.

Stryker grimaced, his eyes narrowing as he thought. Though he was grateful that Kano had found Kabal and taken him to Shang Tsung, he couldn’t help but feel that they had deliberately shortchanged Kabal. Shang Tsung could create fully sentient creatures in his Flesh Pits, yet he couldn’t repair a set of lungs? That just didn’t make any sense. It was like Kano had requested that Kabal be handicapped. He wanted Kabal to return to the Black Dragon; it stood to reason that he wanted to make sure Kabal would be dependent on the Black Dragon for survival. It was, Stryker felt, an attempt to guarantee that Kabal would remain subservient and wouldn’t risk betraying the criminal organization again. The tattooed Australian had wanted to back Kabal into a corner, trap him into following his orders again. Kabal was half-blind and unable to breathe on his own, not to mention horribly deformed. His refusal to kowtow to Kano must have been a shock to the laser-eyed thug.

Stryker would have disliked Kano anyway, as he would any raging criminal, but now he absolutely hated him. Anyone who hurt his lover would draw his ire, and the thought that Kano had intentionally put Kabal in his current situation was simply maddening.

The only saving grace, other than the obvious fact that Kabal was alive, was that the magic used on him had the unexpected side effect of inhuman speed. Kabal could move so fast now he was literally a blur. He only used this ability when he needed to, which wasn’t often, but the fact that he even had it was astonishing. It had helped him in the fight for Earthrealm, and in fact had saved both his and Stryker’s lives during the fight in the cathedral. If Kabal hadn’t been there, Stryker’s face would have been literally smashed in. Instead, he got away with only a broken nose. The Thunder God had been kind enough to heal that injury; otherwise, he’d still be recovering from it.

“There has to be a way to heal you,” he said softly, stroking Kabal’s cheek, “and I will find it if it kills me. I swear to you…” He leaned down and placed a kiss on Kabal’s lips.

Kabal made a tiny noise, beginning to stir. Stryker pressed a little harder, and soon felt Kabal kissing back. The other man was awake.

“Kurt,” Kabal whispered as Stryker pulled back. His eyes were sleepy, though he didn’t look upset to be woken.

Stryker grinned. “Hey there, babe. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’okay,” Kabal yawned, stretching luxuriously. “What time is it?”

Stryker glanced at the clock. “Coming up on four in the afternoon,” he answered. “We’ve been asleep a couple hours.”

Kabal made a sound of acknowledgement, turning to face Stryker. For several moments, they just looked at each other, Stryker still playing with Kabal’s hair, Kabal idly stroking Stryker’s side.

“You look a little sullen, Kurt,” Kabal said suddenly, his good eye fixed on Stryker’s face. “What’re you thinking about?”

Stryker’s eyes widened slightly, startled by Kabal’s sudden statement. Then he smiled to himself. Kabal could read him like a book. Of course he’d be able to sense Stryker’s recent moodiness.

“I was thinking about us,” he said honestly, “and…well, about you.”

“Oh? Good things, I hope.”

“Kinda…” When Kabal gave him a confused look, he continued. “I wasn’t thinking bad things about you! There’s nothing bad about you, babe. What I meant is, I was thinking about stuff that’s happened.”

“Ah,” Kabal said quietly. He lowered his gaze, his expression clouding. Absently, he slipped a finger underneath the strap around his neck, tugging at it like it bothered him.

“Hey,” Stryker said, laying his hand over Kabal’s. “You’re okay. Don’t think about it.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Kabal muttered. He let Stryker pull his hand away from his neck.

“Sorry,” Stryker apologized. “I didn’t mean to upset you, honey.”

Kabal looked back up into Stryker’s eyes, and after a moment, managed a small smile.

“There we go,” Stryker smiled back, encouraging. He laid his hand against Kabal’s cheek, touching their foreheads together. “I love you so much, Kabal. It hurts to see you so sad.”

“Kurt,” Kabal whispered. He closed his eyes as Stryker kissed him gently.

“God, I love you,” Stryker said again when he pulled back a moment later. His voice was hoarse, as if he were about to cry. “You mean everything to me, Kabal. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His blue eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“I love you, too,” Kabal murmured, putting his arms around Stryker, pulling them together. “You’ve done so much for me. I wouldn’t be the man I am today if it weren’t for you.” Kabal truly believed it. If it weren’t for Kurtis Stryker, he never would have made it even half as far.

“I didn’t know what I was missing until I met you.” Stryker brought their faces very close together again, their breath mingling. “You filled a hole in me I didn’t even know I had. I know it sounds cliché, but you complete me, Kabal. I feel like a whole person with you around. If I had lost you that day, I…I wouldn’t want to live anymore.”

Kabal listened silently. Stryker wasn’t shy with his emotions, at least not with him, but it was very rare that he was brought to tears like this. His eyes looked ready to overflow at any moment. What he had been thinking before Kabal awoke must have been very personal indeed.

“I don’t want you to hurt anymore, baby,” Stryker continued. “If there’s a way to heal you, any way at all, I’ll find it for you. Even if it costs me my life, I’ll make you whole again. I swear it, Kabal.”

“Don’t say that,” Kabal said, lightly touching Stryker’s lips. “There would be no point in healing me if it meant I’d have to live without you. If it meant choosing between having a normal face and having you, I would always choose you.”

“Those bastards made sure you turned out like this! They wanted to trap you into serving them!” Stryker hissed these words, his teeth clenched. There was no doubt in his mind what their enemies had intended.

“I know,” Kabal conceded, giving a slight nod. “But they’ll never have me again. I will _never_ go back to where I came from. You’ve taught me the value of doing good, and they will never take what I’ve learned away from me. I’ll _kill_ myself before I turn my back on you and all you stand for. All _we_ stand for.”

“I am in awe of you, Kabal,” Stryker said, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “You’ve worked so hard to turn yourself around. I almost never see that level of determination in anyone, for anything. You say you owe it all to me, but _you_ are the one who dragged yourself up out of that pit. _You_ are the one who made the decision to switch sides. I supported you once I met you, but the effort was entirely yours. You could have given up at any time, said it was too hard, but you didn’t. You just kept moving forward; you never turned back. You _are_ a good person, Kabal. Your fight to atone for your past is proof of that. Don’t _ever_ let anyone tell you different.”

Kabal managed a smile. “Kurt…”

Stryker sat up, holding Kabal’s hand between his own. “I love you, Kabal. I love you with everything I have. You are the center of my world. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I have no doubt about that.” It had never crossed his mind before, but he suddenly knew what he wanted to say next. What he _needed_ to say next. “Kabal, I…I want you to marry me.”

Kabal froze, eyes wide. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. He was utterly shocked by what Stryker had just said. Slowly, he sat up as well, his gaze glued to Stryker’s face, as if trying to figure out if he was joking or not.

He finally found his voice. “Kurt, we…we’ve never even _discussed_ …”

“I know,” Stryker cut across him. “I’ve never even thought about it until now, but I know it’s what I want. You’re everything to me. I loved you before, but the invasion showed me just _how_ important you are to me. I am yours, body and soul, and I want the whole world to know how much I love you.” He squeezed Kabal’s hand. “Please…say you will.”

Kabal’s eyes had softened. He was still in shock from the sudden proposal, but the look of being wholly blindsided had faded. In its place was deep affection and a growing spark of happiness. “Yes…yes, I do want that, Kurtis.”

Stryker’s lips stretched into a grin, utter joy shot through with relief lighting up his features. Unable to help himself, he pulled Kabal into a deep kiss, wrapping his arms around the other man and holding tightly. Kabal responded eagerly, kissing back with equal enthusiasm, gripping Stryker’s biceps so firmly that he threatened to leave bruises behind.

“I want you _so_ bad, baby,” Stryker breathed when they separated. The love in his eyes was now mingled with lust, heat pooling insistently in his loins.

Kabal grinned playfully. “Then have me.” He recognized that look in Stryker’s eyes. It was his I-want-to-fuck-you-into-the-floor-and-you-can’t-do-anything-about-it look. They were already naked, so nothing stood in Stryker’s way; the blond man got right to business.

Kabal lay back, letting Stryker do as he pleased, feeling a rare but welcome calmness drape over him. He couldn’t often see it, but deep down he knew that things were going to turn out okay. He still had a long way to go, still had a daunting struggle before him, but somehow he just knew.

He was going to be all right.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a sap-fest. Not that I expected anything else, knowing me. I hope I kept them in character and didn’t stray into cheesiness.
> 
> Let me know if you liked it? Please? I do so love feedback on my writing. If you didn’t like it, though, please be civil in telling me so. Flames are just a waste of your time and mine.
> 
> Baibai for now.


End file.
